


Moonlit Walks, Lube, and the Bone Zone

by PrinceofKawaii



Series: Moonlit Walks Universe [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, I regret everything I've ever done, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-18 23:19:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5947111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceofKawaii/pseuds/PrinceofKawaii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This idea /came/ to me because of the hilarious title possibilities. It's not as funny anymore.</p>
<p>A series of fics in which the reader has sex with Sans. There'll be DFAB and DMAB versions of everything, but tbh pwp is hella exhausting to write, so it'll all be slow going. Especially because I haven't written sexy stuff in literal years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after the events of chapter 10 of Moonlit Walks, Coffee, and a Dragon.
> 
> Which, in case you haven't read or don't remember, involved a nightmare, a breakdown, and an adorable shower scene and the couple slinking off to bed together to cuddle and get some well-needed rest. That clearly doesn't last long.
> 
> [This first chapter is done with reader being designated female at birth (DFAB). I don't know why, that's just how it worked out.]

There was an air of exhaustion after the previous night’s emotional intensity, and you weren’t making any move to get out of bed any time soon. There wasn’t really any reason to leave the bedroom, either, and you weren’t planning on creating one if you could avoid it. You might have to pee, but you’re going to put that off as much as possible because right now you’re warm, you’re comfortable, and Sans’ head was resting on your chest where he was listening to your heartbeat, and his hand was resting on your belly, index finger drawing lazy patterns on your skin.

Neither of you have really said much other than a “good morning” and a “how did you sleep” despite being awake for almost forty-five minutes, but there’s nothing wrong with just enjoying someone else’s company. You finally do break the silence by telling him you need to piss like a racehorse, and he snorts in amusement, shifting so that you can get up. You do inform him, however, that you’re going to be right back as soon as you’ve peed and brushed your teeth.

When you do come back and you’re feeling marginally better and more awake, you prepare to settle back down in bed, smiling when Sans is already holding open the covers for you so that you can crawl inside them. You shiver slightly at the change in temperature, and he settles back into his usual spot with his head resting on your chest, and you snake your arm under him to rub at his spine idly. Though probably morbid, you love the feel of his bones, and his t-shirt is clinging so delightfully to every curve, every notch, and every protrusion.

Your heart beat shifts when his hand slides a little lower, thumb rubbing circles against your hip where your pajama bottoms have slid down and exposed it. He hums at the sound, his rubbing becoming less idle and more intent-filled. Not in a sexual way, but just wanting to hear the way your heart rate and breathing pick up. He’s got a delighted fascination in the way that your body works.

He shifts the position of his head, and you let out a soft whine when his cheek rubs over your nipple. They were oddly sensitive today – probably the chill of the apartment, or something. Shifting his head to look up at you, you let out another small sound, and reach up to cover your face in embarrassment. The next time he does it, you’re certain it’s on purpose.

“ _Sans_ ,” you murmur, “you’re going to make me all… _y’know_.”

He hesitates for a brief second, before chuckling, his finger dipping slightly underneath your waistband. You take in a soft breath, which exits you in a huff when he tugs it away from your skin and lets it snap back. It doesn’t hurt or anything, of course not, the problem lies in the fact that you know he’s just messing with you.

“*that doesn’t sound like a bad thing,” comes the sound of his voice, and it rumbles pleasantly from where his chin is resting on top of your chest, husky from general morning disuse. Your fingers dig slightly into his back, slipping between the spaces of his ribs and causing him to shiver. You don’t mean to do that – you know it bothers him – and you quickly apologize.

He sits up ever so slightly, weight resting on his forearm while his hand runs over your side, pushing up the loose t-shirt you’re wearing until it’s resting around your natural waist, pooled around his wrist. You’re holding your breath because you’re not sure how to react, or if you can touch him even. You’re not sure how far he’s comfortable with taking this, and you’re going to let him go at his own pace, even if you’re already way into this.

“*is this okay?” he questions, and you can feel the way his finger skirts the bottom of your right breast as though asking for permission. You let out the breath you’re holding, shakily, and nod for him to continue.

Pushing your shirt up, he uncovers your chest and you watch as his fingers graze over the hills and valleys of your chest with the utmost gentleness, just taking you all in. He’s fascinated by the way that you work, and you’re certain he’ll be all the more so when it comes to the way you’re bound to come apart beneath him. It’s one of the only things you’re certain he’ll never be lazy when it comes to. Your body was one of his favorite things.

It showed in the way he looked at you, his hand pressing to your chest to try and feel your heartbeat. You’re sure he only can because it feels like it’s trying to beat hard enough for him to actually touch it.

Sans gives a small, satisfied smile, and lazily trails his hand down the curve of your breast, watching the way it rises and falls with your already quickened breathing, and by the time he grazes your nipple, you’re so strung out that you hiss and push your chest up into his hand.

His gaze shifts up to your face, and you can see the way that the lights that make up his visual cortex dance with amusement. Especially when he does it again, this time more purposeful, before gently taking the hardened nub between his thumb and forefinger and massaging it. You can’t help the way you let out a shaky breath, your head tipping back and eyes fluttering closed.

You feel his body shift, and you lower your head again, eyes opening once more to find him taking up most of your vision. Chewing on your bottom lip, you reach up to place your free hand on his face as he leans down to kiss you. It was still lazy, and it made you feel warm and tingly. Especially when it slowly deepens enough for him to part his mouth and introduce his tongue. It’s not nearly as overwhelming as it was the previous night, but it still tingled and had your body on edge, mind fuzzy.

Your thighs clench together, and you can feel the growing dampness there, and you’re certain that at this point you were probably going to touch yourself if he stopped, regardless of whether or not he was watching.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” you breathe once you’ve both broken apart for a moment, his forehead resting against yours. You’re rewarded with him straddling your hips so that he has both hands free, and your hands slide down to grip at his upper arms loosely.

He watches the way that you chew on your bottom lip, still admiring the way your skin is flushed with color, and your nipple hardens under his touch. You squirm under him slightly, and he takes a breast in each hand, kneading them with an almost torturous gentleness, his middle fingers toying with the dusty-pink nubs.

“*i have an idea, yeah,” he murmurs finally, and in that moment you realize he really is doing all this on purpose. Your thighs clench together even tighter, and you can feel the slight rush of pleasure from doing that.

You watch the way the lights in his eyes fade just to be replaced by a blazing blue in his left. You whine at the sight, knowing what it could possibly mean for you in the near future, and your grip on his humeri tighten in anticipation.

You feel the crackle of electricity in the air, and the scent that you only place as the calm before the storm, or the crack of lightning burning the air molecules. It’s a subtle scent, but heady, and in your current state it only seems to heighten your level of sensation, as Sans’ magic was prone to do. You suck in a breath as magic slides over your sides, giving the impression of fingers touching you, and you release it out in a shudder when they lift the hem of your pajama pants and slide teasingly just underneath the waistband.

“Sans,” you find yourself pleading, “please.”

“*please what?” You hadn’t pegged him for that kind of guy, and it causes you to flush more, your heart beating in your chest at a more accelerated pace. You’re breathing open-mouthed now, almost panting but not quite there yet. You nearly groan when he slides a hand up to your neck, two fingers pressing a little too firmly against your jugular to gauge your pulse.

“*you’re really into this, aren’t you? well, then. what should i do next?”

You lift your hips slightly, pressing them into his pelvis as a silent plead for him to keep going. You’re beyond wanting him to go further, you’re needing him to go further. Every beat of your heart has your core giving an answering throb of need.

He finally decides that, yeah okay, he can at least assuage some of the heat by shimmying his way down your legs, fingers hooked in the waistband of your pants as he tugs them down and off. You’re not wearing underwear, and you’re incredibly grateful for that. Once he’s off of you, you part your legs for him after a moment of shyness has passed. He didn’t care, he wouldn’t judge you. He made you feel safe.

“Please,” you beg again, and he doesn’t seem to hear you because he’s too busy sliding his hands over your fleshy thighs, fascinated by every mark he finds as they slide lower, lower… His thumbs stop when they reach the junction where leg meets hip, just away from your outer labia, and you huff in irritable, needy exasperation. “ _Sans_.”

“*can’t a guy take in the sights?” he offers, and you close your legs in retaliation, an arm coming up to cover your face with the junction of your elbow. Fuck. But you let him slowly part your legs again, and feel your core clench at the way you know he’s staring at you.

Finally, _finally_ , he grazes his thumb over your outer labia, and your legs quiver in response. Using his middle and index fingers, he parts your nether lips so that he can get a good look at what he’s dealing with here, and you feel yourself leaking in response to the scrutiny.

“*you’re so _wet_ ,” he marvels, running his thumb over your hole, and you instinctively buck your hips up against him in response to the stimuli. You watch from underneath your arm as he removes his hand and plays with your lubrication, watching the way it creates a trail between his thumb and forefinger in some weird, perverse fascination. And then he licks it.

“*kind of sweet, yet salty. it’s a pretty wild flavor,” he hums to himself, and you whine at that. You just want him to fuck you stupid already, dammit.

The skeleton then moves his hand back down and starts coating his thumb with your juices, sliding it around. You outright moan when it finds your clit, and he seems delighted at your response, starting to gently rub at that next. You jerk your hips against his thumb, shivering and panting as tears come to your eyes at the sheer intensity of the moment and the atmosphere.

By the time he removes his thumb, you’re shaking, and you whimper at the loss, trying to beg him to keep touching you. Your words come out garbled, because you can’t even deal with this shit right now, but he seems to be moving onto greener pastures at this point because his thumb presses into your aching hole and you let out a shuddering groan. He cocks his thumb to the side, trying to part you more, and his face is right there like he’s trying to peer inside and see how you work.

“ _Sans_ ,” you try again, and he doesn’t even look at you, but you can feel the way that more of those magical fingers start assaulting your body, two of them on each nipple and one of them rubbing circles on your clit. You start, groaning loudly at the touches because you hadn’t been expecting them, and because it’s so _good_. You squirm and shudder under them, one hand gripping the sheets tightly and the other reaching up to grip at your hair, needing something to tug on.

He sinks his thumb deeper into your body, and he draws it out again when your walls flutter around him, a particularly hard clench causing you to gush a little more. There’s definitely a growing wet spot on the bed, and your thighs are shaking, legs falling open more because you can no longer hold them up under their own strength. You’re practically gasping for air now, and the hand that was gripping at the sheets is now resting on your midsection, short nails clawing uselessly at the skin of your waist.

He pushes his thumb into you once more, and you buck against it, just wanting it to move, even if it’s rocking uselessly in and out of you and it’s not quite thick enough. It doesn’t matter, you’re so –

“Sans, I’m so c-close,” you struggle to tell him, your voice a low whine of need.

He doesn’t entirely know what that means, but he keeps going, and pretty soon you reach your orgasm with a cry, your stomach muscles tightening as they pull you partially up into a sitting position as you shake and shudder. When you’re spent, you thump back against the bed and try to gasp air back into your lungs, and you can feel the way you continue to gush out around his thumb even while your body keeps trying to grip it tightly and draw it further inside.

“*wow,” Sans breathes, but you’re certain he’s not done with you yet, because his eye is still blazing that intense cerulean and you can feel that when his thumb withdraws, something bigger nudges against you instead. True to your thoughts, Sans was sitting on his heels, hands settling on your knees while a rounded blue tube of magic was settled between your legs.

You lament that he could have at least attached it to himself, but he’s probably only doing this to satiate some sort of curiosity about the subject and not out of any sort of urge to engage in sexual relations with you. You confirm that this is the case when he moves to sit next to you instead of between your legs, his hand coming over your cheek and smoothing over it comfortingly. It’s cold, which feels incredible on your flushed skin.

“*is… is this okay? you’re okay?”

You lean further into his hand and close your eyes for a moment, humming in contentment. But then you reach up and put your hand on his cheek, making sure to look up so that you don’t just give him a wayward smack. “Peachy,” you breathe out, giving him a dorky smile. “You’re doing amazing. Way too amazingly, honestly.”

“*so you’re not hurting or anything? i can put that in there? your body seemed, uh, pretty eager for something to be in it.”

Taking your hand off of his face, you reach it down between your legs and measure the size of the magical dong with your thumb and forefinger, just to make sure that it’s alright sized and not going to tear you a new one (not that he would, but y’know). It jolts you slightly, and you lick your lips at the feeling, not sure how that’ll end up feeling inside of you, but you’re willing to give it a try. It seemed as though Sans had taken your advice and turned down the intensity of the magical pop rock mixed with electricity feeling, which suited you just fine. Didn’t stop it from making you weak in the knees or fuzzy minded, though.

“You could even go a touch bigger, y’know,” you murmur after a moment, feeling weird about saying that. It just seemed a little too narrow – as though he didn’t grasp that vaginas were made to stretch slightly, or how unbelievably wet you currently were. It pulses and grows slightly in your hold, and you bite your lip at that. It was… kind of hot???

“*how’s that?”

“Let’s give it a shot,” you offer, and you feel the way it nudges against you, rubbing slightly before pressing its way inside, and your head tips back and a low groan escapes you at the way it fills you up. You spasm around it when you realize that it’s Sans who’s filling you up right now, and you draw your boyfriend into a kiss that leaves you feeling dizzy.

It reaches inside you until it can’t go any further, and you let out a whine when it continues to nudge its way forth. “That’s it,” you insist, “there’s nowhere else to go.”

“*sorry, i guess I was getting ahead of myself,” he tells you, and you can’t help a snort of laughter because of his unintentional pun. A head of himself. Dicks have heads on them. Oh Christ. The laughter makes you grip and spasm around the magical dong, and you shudder at the feeling, grin faltering momentarily. He doesn’t get it.

“Okay,” you breathe out, trying to calm yourself, “jus’ move it in and out. That’s really all human sex is. Just wet flesh slapping together and chemical release. It’s fuckin’ hot though, somehow.”

He moves it, and you just about lose your mind at the sensation, and he eagerly feels your pulse, and uses your reactions to figure out exactly what you like best. It’s incredible that he reads you like words on a page, and you quickly reach a second orgasm with his name on your lips. He finds that a little amusing.

After no less than six orgasms over the two hours you guys keep this up, you’re quick to put on the brakes to this little excursion, and the moment you’re released from your magical binds (he’d actually tied you up the last time, holy shit), you turn and curl into yourself on the bed, still shaking, and trying to ignore every apology that comes out of Sans’ mouth while you try and come back to yourself.

“It’s _fine_ , I just – that’s too many. Too sensitive. Holy _fuck_.”

“*…you’re not mad?”

“Fuck no. I just need to. I need to breathe, I need to sleep, I need to eat. I need to everything but have more sex with you right now. Don’t get me wrong, it was amazing, it was more than incredible, it was the best sex out of best sex in the history of anyone having fantastic sex,” you quickly reassure him, “but I’m done.”

He breathes out a sigh of relief, and you wonder if he’d just kept going on principle because he thought he’d had to. But then the light in his eye dissipates and he practically collapses on the bed looking exhausted as you feel. Turns out that he could sustain his magic more if it was dialed down like that, but there was still only so much he could do before he was spread thin. And spread thin he damn well was.

So much so, in fact, that in order to clean yourself up, you have to get out of bed and hobble your way to the bathroom, nearly collapsing twice on legs that didn’t exactly function like legs, and from jolts of sensitivity related to how your labia were rubbing against your erect clit while you moved around.

By the time you get back into bed, Sans is out cold, and you don’t even bother getting dressed before curling up next to him. You know you’ll regret it later, but you need to sleep for another eight hours first.


	2. Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gender neutral Sans fucking??????????????????
> 
> ?!?!?!?!?!
> 
> This is the whole scene from the end of Over and Over, but it's really terribly written, so plz don't read it.

_“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream_   
_I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam_   
_Yet I know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem_   
_But if I know you… I know what you’ll do…”_

Here you hesitate, and Sans gestures, encouraging you, but you can’t quite do it. So he finishes it for you.

_“*you’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.”_

His voice is a gentle baritone, though rusty, and though he’s not the greatest singer – you’re worse by far – he doesn’t seem bothered by your lack of skill, and nor are you bothered by his own. The sound of his voice singing is more comforting than anything. When he stops, his expression is so expectant, like he’s waiting for something, and there’s so much hope there like he needs something from you and you find your stomach twisting when you can’t discern what it is.

Your expression shifts, shadows of thoughts and something you can’t discern flicking over your face, but try as you might, you don’t quite understand what it is or why it’s so important that you try and figure it out. You find yourself becoming frustrated, as though this is one of his jokes and there’s some big punchline to it and you don’t get it and the explanation is just flying right over your head. You look to him, expression shifting to something hesitant; needy, perhaps. Why can’t he just talk to you?

“*so you don’t remember,” he murmurs, voice a touch frustrated, defeatist, perhaps, and it’s so quiet that you almost don’t catch it. It tugs at something in you, and you don’t know why, but you need to know. You need to know so fucking badly because you want to understand him and his behavior and the intensity of the buzzing in your skull.

“Remember what?” Your voice comes out quiet, confused, words cracking slightly. There’s an undertone of begging there, of please.

Sans seems embarrassed that you’d caught his inane muttering, giving you a wry smile. It was definitely some sort of joke that you weren’t in on, and his next words only serve to confuse you further. “*would you be acting the way that you are if i were any ol’ complete stranger?”

You actually have to think about that, and you hesitantly admit to yourself that no, no you probably wouldn’t instantly bond with someone like this. It hadn’t seemed weird until he pointed it out. All the touching, all the smiles, the easy conversation, the weird sense of déjà vu – no, more like  _presque_  vu, the feeling of something you know being on the tip of your tongue without being able to recall what exactly it is. It’s so subtle, so indescribable, and you find yourself getting more and more frustrated the more you think about it.

“N-No, I guess not?”

Sans takes your hands in his, running his thumbs over the backs of your knuckles. His hands are the temperature of the ambient air, mostly soft but with some roughness from general weathering. Small chips and pockmarks, and they’re so, so comforting to you. You curl your fingers slightly to clutch at his hands, again wondering why you’re doing this. Why is it not weird for him to touch you like this, so intimately, his hands grasping yours with something like affection and an innate desire to just hold you. Why hadn’t you recoiled when he’d touched your face so gently in the car, or when he looked at you with such awe and familiarity? _Why?_

**_Why_** , god damn it?

“*do you have any idea how long i’ve waited? i almost gave up.” His words are soft, trembling, and they’re affecting you _so much_ , but in a really dissociative way, as though it’s someone else he’s speaking to. You’re feeling his emotions empathetically; his frustrations, his longing. Why? You don’t understand the why, but you don’t wonder who he’s talking about or if he’s gotten you confused with someone else, and that’s terrifying. None of this is making sense, and it’s giving you a bit of a headache.

“*i promised i would find you again.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and all your breath leaves you in a slow, painful hiss like a deflating balloon. Your mouth is hanging open slightly and you almost jerk back from him in surprise. There’s a well of emotions leaking up with no discernible source, no context to them whatsoever.

Longing. Love. Desperation. Neediness. Joy. Excitement. Awe.

Fear.

You whimper, and you hear him suck in a breath, and he must’ve seen all this in your face because he’s dropping your hands so he can take that in them instead. His hands are shaking, they’re shaking so much, and you realize he’s just as scared as you are, probably feeling the same things, and you don’t know why or how you know this but you _do_. Lord knows you do.

His expression is bordering on somewhere between agony and the sweetest, most blissful joy. Like someone who’s been waiting so long to reunite with someone they loved so much – bittersweet in the worst way. He leans over, tugging you down at the same time so that he can press his teeth against your lips, and when you tremble but don’t pull away, he does it again, and again.

You feel a twisting in your gut, an almost suffocating tightness in your chest, and you _sob_. The fact that you do that is alarming, and Sans seems to want to jerk back like he’s sorry, but you don’t want him to be sorry. You don’t let him pull away, and you cut him off before the first syllable he can manage to squeak out, your lips finally working with him as you give him a hesitant kiss of your own volition. He trembles even more, and you give him a second, bolder kiss and feel him melt against you like he’s turning into putty.

He must’ve wanted this so, so badly.

When you place your hands on his cheekbones, you feel a dampness there, and then more as tears bead up against your fingers and trail over and around them. They’re slightly gooey, like melted Jell-O, and you’re sure they’re going to stain his white t-shirt if they get that far.

“*you remember me,” he chokes out between kisses, and he says it again like a mantra, soft and vulnerable. “*you _remember_ me.”

“No,” you manage, voice hoarse with this barely decipherable swell of emotions and the tears running down your cheeks, “I don’t.” And you honestly don’t, but you _do_ , and despite the fact that your rational mind is telling you that this doesn’t make sense, you’ve never met him before, your heart and Soul _ache_ and you can’t stop kissing this stranger, this ambassador of monsters, this man you’ve never met before but _have._

His hands slide down, trailing over your sides, and you _whimper_ and he’s clutching at you like a goddamn lifeline, just touching, exploring, _needing_ , and you’ve never felt so wanted in your entire life.

When his tongue snakes out to press against your lips, you let it in and it lights something in you on _fire_. It’s like a humid summer day, warm and wet, and it feels like popping, buzzing, thick air before a thunderstorm, and his magic leaves you feeling a little weightless and dizzy like you’re drunk off the sensation of him and his own. Electricity courses white-hot through your every cell, and you’re moving, and he’s moving, and you somehow end up straddling his lap, his spine pressed against the edge of the picnic table as you struggle to mold yourself to fit against him.

You’re facing the house now, and you open your eyes briefly to check to see if your parents are watching, relieved when you notice nothing out of the ordinary. You close your eyes again, and draw his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it and you hear him groan, low and intense, and it’s a sound that goes straight to the core of your being. It shakes you, and you’re not sure why, but you’re positive that it’s not something you’ve ever heard before. At least not like _that_

Sans parts your jacket where it hangs loosely around your frame, sliding his hands down your sides. When they slide back up your shirt, you shiver at their temperature compared to just how hot and flushed you were. When they reach your shoulder blades, he drags them down slightly, just hard enough to leave hot, red lines on your skin that’ll last only a few moments, and you whine at him, breaking the kiss.

He almost seems worried that you’ll pull away from him, but you merely give him a weak smile before shifting so that you can press kisses along his jaw. Sans gives a shaky breath, his grip on you tightening when you brush your lips against his cervical vertebrae, and you press a few more kisses there before grazing your teeth against them. He jumps slightly in surprise, letting out a moan that has you tentatively doing it again, and his fingers are digging into your back so tightly that it’s bordering on painful.

“Sans,” you whine at him when his hands slide over and up to your chest, his bony fingertips toying with your nipples in a way that has you squirming in his lap. You don’t complete the thought, though, and he gives them both a rough pinch, causing you to hiss in something between pain and pleasure, hips jerking and he lets out this pleased, almost erotic rumble in response that you’re definitely certain you’ve never heard before.

“*what’s up, my verte-bae?” He coos at you, and you can’t help but laugh softly at the joke, though it turns into a gasp when he grinds his hips up against you. Pushing up your shirt, he doesn’t even give you a chance to respond before he’s leaning you back so that he can run his tongue over your sternum. Despite the moment of seeming respite, you can’t help but feel the crackle of energy and the urgency coming from him.

“I want you inside of me,” you manage, your lips moving of your own volition, and the sound that he gives is so strange to hear coming from him. It’s a low, growly groan, and his hands shakily leave your chest so that he can slide them down to your crotch, undoing your jeans. Your heart is beating so hard it feels like it’s trying to leap out of your chest, and your breathing has been reduced to a hot and wet sort of panting. You get off of his lap, tugging your lower clothing down and kicking off a shoe so that you can take your pants and underwear off of one leg.

You glance to the house nervously before getting back into his lap, only belatedly noticing that his sweats are down around his femurs now. You reach down and rub at his pubis, his hips bucking up at you and a shaky gasp leaving him at the sensation. His eye blazes and you watch blue magic pool there before forming into a shape you’re more or less familiar with. You wrap a hand around it, giving it a few experimental strokes, the surface slightly slippery. He shudders almost violently, shaking against you, and you wonder if he’s even done this before, he’s so affected by it.

“Sans,” you try, “I’m a virgin.” And you don’t him to get scared away by the fact, you’re just attempting to placate him so he feels more comfortable. You see his eyes widen, and you don’t understand what that means, so you continue to ramble. “You’re not gonna hurt me, I’m well acquainted with a toy or two, I just thought that –“

You feel his mouth press against yours, and you’re drawn into a kiss that has you dizzy. He only lets you break away so that he can put his fingers in his own mouth, rolling his tongue over them. You notice that his saliva seems different when he pulls them away, and in fact it almost looks like lube? He gives you an awkward grin and a shrug, his fingers pressing against your hole before pressing two of them inside. You groan at the feeling, clutching at him tightly, and while he’s doing that, you drag your thumb over the tip of his dick, the movement causing him to jerk, fingers curling inside of you and causing you to cry out, but it’s quickly muffled by him shoving his fingers in your open mouth.

You whimper around them, sucking and licking, your other hand digging slightly into his ribs. He feels cold now, his cheeks saturated with blue, and he sticks another finger inside of you, working them in and out and stretching you open in the most delicious way.

“*do you wanna get caught?” He manages, voice shaky from everything you’re doing to him, and you see his point but he feels so fucking good and sounds even better than he feels, and you find yourself wanting to see how many more delicious noises you can cause to drip off the end of his perfect fucking tongue.

You moan his name around his fingers, and he practically keens at the sound, pulling his hand away so that he can pull his fingers out of both your orifices and press you tightly against him. You’re drooling slightly, and all you feel is magic and Sans and you take a proper hold of his dick again, giving it a slight squeeze and feeling immensely pleased with yourself when he hisses out a curse. Without much preamble you sink yourself down onto it, and you both kiss deeply to try and muffle the sounds you’re making

You’re both shaking, voices low and growly, teeth nipping and fingers gripping almost tightly enough to bruise. His hands are on your hips and he’s struggling to get in a breath he doesn’t even need to breathe, ribcage rising and falling in tandem with your own chest.

“*you’re so fucking _tight_ ,” he hisses at you, and you give a groan of agreement, clenching down around him and feeling him twitch and bob inside of you at the sensation. “*god, this is incredible, _you’re_ incredible, you’re _so fucking **perfect**_ **.** ”

You lift yourself up and then slam back down on him, and he clutches your hips hard enough to bruise, helping you move, though he’s clearly not all there right now. He’s somewhere in outer-fucking-space, his tongue lopping out of his mouth on one side and his canines extending in an odd way that has you shivering. Reaching up, you rub your thumb along one of them, and he gives you a grin that has your body clenching tightly around him again.

He sits up better so that he can lean over your shoulder, and you feel him messily shove the fabric aside so that he can bite you, and you have to quite literally bite your tongue to stop from crying out. He doesn’t move from there, merely keeps his teeth buried in you for several moments, his breathing erratic. You keep riding him, the motions causing his teeth to tear at your shoulder slightly, and he finally pulls away only to run his tongue over the mark.

He leans back after, watching you with a heavy-lidded gaze as he grabs hold of both of your hips again and jerks you down against him roughly. Honestly he’s making almost more noise than you are, and you can’t help but run your hands over his chest, touching between his ribs and watching him come undone beneath you.

Soon enough, much too soon, you can feel yourself start to clench around him, and he murmurs encouraging things to you, telling you to cum, how you always look so incredible when you do, how good you feel, but his voice is broken with pleasure. You feel him drag you back down, and you feel an intense tug in your chest that almost makes you feel sick with its sheer overwhelming strength, and you wordlessly cry into his mouth when you finally hit your peak, and you feel him tug you down so roughly that you swear there’s nowhere else for him to go. There’s a bright flash in front of your closed eyelids, and then you’re both panting.

The two of you don’t stop touching each other afterward, and he’s whispering he loves you over and over and over and you find yourself crying as you return the words to him, before you’re wrapping your arms around his shoulders and clutching him as tightly as you can. His hands clench at the back of your jacket, bunching it up in his fingers as he holds you just as tightly.

You cry even harder when things start bubbling to the surface, things that are so familiar and yet not. It’s difficult to remember it, but you remember the heady taste of a coffee drink from Starbucks, and the way he smiled up at the stars from the swing next to you. You remember the warmth of your favorite onesie – the dragon one, and of the first time he’d touched you. You remember the way he’d make cookies and the time you bought a house. You remember how he’d never once fucked you like this.

Your sobs have laughter etched within, and you kiss at his neck again. Whatever that flash was – you’d never experienced it before with him. It was like his Soul had touched yours and awakened the memories he’d had of you, the ones you were meant to have. It’s a jumble of information and there’s things that don’t line up. You’d have to take a lot of time to sort through it.

“Once upon a time,” you tell him, voice shaky and still broken with your heavy panting, “there was a dragon who took a skeleton out for coffee and they watched the stars together.”

He’s crying too, and he nuzzles you for all he’s worth, clutching you so tightly it’s almost crushing your lungs but you don’t care. “*god, you remember, you fucking remember, holy shit.”

“I also remember we never had sex like this before,” you offer, still laughing and crying, and you’re realizing just how absurd this entire experience was, but you’re not going to complain. “I thought you didn’t –“

“*i didn’t. don’t. i just –“ And then he laughs, too, only his is out of sheer disbelief and he buries his face into your shoulder. “*i fucking – we just _bonded_ , this is _insane_.”

“I love you,” you say, messy and sweating with his magical dong still inside you, your face covered in tears and when he pulls away to get a good look at you, you’ve never felt more confident and attractive.

“*i’ve been waiting six whole months for you to say that again.”

You kiss him again, and he returns it eagerly. The only thing you have to worry about now is how the hell you two are going to have a shower together without waking your parents.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, you can find me at imtheprinceofkawaii.tumblr.com if you wanna tell me how awful I am or make any sort of request :B


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